


Touch Starved

by starkraving



Category: Blade Runner (Movies), Blade Runner 2049
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light BDSM, Loss of Control, Overstimulation, Threesome, Touch-Starved, because this world is awful, not in scene just in their histories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkraving/pseuds/starkraving
Summary: Joi needs a body, briefly, but not for the reasons that seem obvious. Mariette is here for her own reasons, but she could get used to watching. Officer K can barely breathe. Filling in that one scene.





	Touch Starved

Officer K tastes a little like mint.

That’s Mariette’s first thought as she eases his mouth open – that he must pop breath mints regularly enough to rinse any other taste from his tongue. She wonders why he does that. She almost tells him that he tastes good, but stops herself. Joi is humming in her ears. Joi is static on her skin. She is not herself for his encounter – she is the wireframe on which a fantastic being is projected and when Officer K looks up at her, he sees something else.

Whatever.

Mariette knows why she’s here.

She eases him onto the bed. She straddles him. She helps him take his shirt off and touches bare skin. He barely notices. His hands run tentatively into her hair, his fingers combing gingerly along the back of her head. Mariette imagines the hands touching her at their function – dirty with blood and grit. She can imagine him that way: wearing the same expression as he cuts the left eye from the socket of the dead. Mariette squeezes her eyes shut, shivering, and feels K kiss her forehead. Kiss her nose. Her mouth and his lips against hers are… barely there. Like he’s not sure how. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

 _C’mon, blade runner_.

Mariette inhales the scent off his skin – still cold from the snow – a faint clean smell. She focuses on that. She kisses the runner again, harder, her hands cupping the nape of his neck until she can feel his pulse under her palms, her thumbs hooked at the clean hinge of his jaw. She pushes her tongue into his mouth and he _moans_. Mariette is surprised he knows how to make that sound, actually, since he doesn’t know how to _fucking_ smile.

She eases K onto his back, kissing him all the way down, pressing him into the mattress. He’s still dressed in work boots and jeans. Mariette settles her weight on his hips. She slides her knees apart, sinking down against him. She feels his shoulders tense, but she moves anyway just to get him going. She rolls her hips down, starts a rhythm, fast and easy and – K _flinches_. Hard. He grabs her at the waist with such force her hips come up off his and she freezes. They both freeze. For a second the just stare at each other – a fracture in the illusion.

Then Joi says, “It’s me.” She breaks sync, her static and light fingers sliding weightlessly over K’s skin. Joi ducks her head against his ear, so carefully she never once clips through him. She says, “We can stop whenever you want. Say ‘stop’ if you want me to stop.”

 _Oh,_ Mariette thinks blankly, _That’s why he doesn’t like real girls._

His hands relax off Mariette’s hips.

“Sorry,” he says softly. It’s not clear who he’s talking to.

“Are you alright?” Joi whispers.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Don’t stop.”

There’s a pause, like Joi isn’t buying it. (Can a Joi do that? Is that allowed?)

K says, “ _Please_?”

Joi is quiet.

Then: “Put your hands over your head. Keep them there, okay?”

Officer K, to Mariette’s shock, lies back down does exactly what the Joi tells him to.

 _Oh_.

K looks up at Mariette, his lips parted when she touches them with slow, curious fingers, laved in static. When she touches his cheek, he turns into it with a groan and her fingers slide into his hair until her palm is flush to his skin. He shivers. Mariette _stares_. Something goes hot inside her and she traces his features with her fingertip. He bites his lip and breathes faster. The blade runner shuts his pale grey eyes and moans. She’s barely touching him. Mariette _stares_.

“I’ve got you,” Joi says, her voice humming in Mariette’s bones. “Let me touch you.”

K breathes, shakily. “Okay.”

Mariette follow’s Joi’s lead. She takes K’s wrists in her hands – her hands over Joi’s hands – and leans her weight into them, pushes replicant strength into his bones. He shivers again. Reactive to her. She stacks his wrists and holds them with one hand and he lets her. With her other hand she runs soft fingertips along his jaw, throat, and chest. Muscle tensing under skin where she touches and it’s clear now – now that she’s looking – that Officer K’s never been touched in any context but violence.

Mariette presses him into the mattress and Joi says, “You’re beautiful. You’re so _beautiful_ ,” in a way that shivers on Mariette’s skin.

K looks up at her.  

 “You don’t have to say that,” he says. “You don’t –”

Mariette cups his neck and kisses him again. She pulls her fingers through his hair and the blade runner makes this little noise – somewhere between a whimper and moan – so she kisses the arch of his throat and he lets her do it. He bends his head back. He lets her lick a warm path along his jugular. He lets her control him. She mouths, “It’s me. It’s me. It’s me,” and Joi follows her lead saying it over and over against his neck until he’s slack beneath them. Until he’s panting beneath them. Until he’s sweating and incoherent.

“Don’t stop,” he begs.

He moans against her shoulder when she reaches between his legs, touching him through his clothes and this time he’s there to meet her. Mariette watches him. How his expression buckles under, giving way to instances of helpless pleasure and neutral void – riding the line between hauntingly plain or magazine beautiful. Someone designed him ambiguous. Someone wanted a face that’s easy to talk to. Easy to imagine… possibilities.

 _Wow, you don’t even smile_.

She imagines someone, not her, saying to him as they push him to his knees.

He looks up at her. Desperate with longing and wanting her it makes her whole body ache. She kisses him. She kisses his collarbone, his chest, his mid-riff. She kisses down his body, slides two hands down his ribs. She takes her time, letting the warmth and pressure sink into his skin, until she settles her hands at his hips. Then she presses her mouth there just above the waistline. She waits… then starts undoing his belt. She feels his spine go tight and he stops breathing.

Joi immediately says, “It’s me. It’s okay.”

Mariette quickly kisses his stomach and he lets go that breath.

And Mariette, forgetting herself, whispers, “It’s okay.” She runs her hands along his thighs with reassuring slowness. “Take it easy.” She takes her hands off his thighs. She runs her hand up behind his right knee instead. She kisses that knee. Then she unlaces his boot. She can feel him sit up to watch her, puzzled. She smiles. Joi smiles and says, “Take it easy, love,” and K starts to relax into her touch, her fingers closing on his calf and ankle. She takes her time taking off his boots before, she runs her hands with any intention back toward his waist.

She unbuttons his jeans.

This time he doesn’t flinch.

Joi says, “It’s me,” as Mariette gently tugs his jeans off his hips. She says, “Just relax,” as Mariette slides her hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs. And then, in a way Mariette knows too well, she says, “I’d never hurt you.”

Mariette kisses him at the place where his thigh meets his groin. She kisses him directly, at the base of him and he gasps, biting it back. She palms him, drags the flat of her tongue on skin. K arches when she takes him in her mouth. She smooths her hands along his thighs, pushing his knees apart and he lets her. But he’s shaking. She squeezes his knee gently, encouragingly.

“I’d never hurt you,” Joi says again, even though Mariette has her mouth full.

So Mariette moves her head, pulling back, then pushing forward, her tongue hot along the base of him, her throat clenching around the shape of him. He’s nothing intimidating to her. Again, he looks like a magazine. Like something out of a catalog. Something you pick. _Default model,_ she thinks again. _No one gave a fucking thought about his cock when they made him._ Not like her, where someone gave a lot of thought to every part of her. She grips his hips and takes him all the way down to the base, sealing her lips around him and swallowing and swallowing so her throat tightens around him.

K cries out and grabs fistfuls of the blankets beneath him. His expression falls apart. 

“Stop,” he gasps.

She does so, immediately. Rocking back on her heels so she’s got her hands on his hips, kneeling between his knees. She waits for Joi. He didn’t finish, so it’s something else that has him frozen.

Mariette wonders if his Joi has this wrong. No one gave a fuck about this part of Officer KD6-3.7. She thinks no one really wired him with anything dreadfully distinct in this category. She thinks the only reason she’s getting anywhere is because the AI that’s mapped him, likely, for years has an exact angle on what he needs and what he needs, apparently, is constant reassurance that his submission to contact will not end in agony and that’s just… Mariette can sympathize with that.

Joi, softly, says, “Are you okay?” She moves a flickering hand off Mariette’s, running worried along his knee. “Should we stop?” And when K can’t seem to answer, Mariette and Joi move back up on the bed, straddling him, bending over his face to kiss his jaw and Joi asks, “Do you want to be on top? Is it easier if you…?” And when he shakes his head, she says, “Talk to me, K. You can tell me.” Joi kisses his neck and Mariette follows. “What do you need?”

K doesn’t speak. He can’t seem to.

He reaches up and cups her face instead, pushing her back so he can just look at her. So he can see her face. She tries to kiss him again but his shoulders tense so she waits. For a full fifteen seconds, he just looks at her, the rainy-day grey of his eyes roving the shifting details of her face and the longer he looks at her – like he could do it forever – the more Mariette feels something closing hot in her throat. His thumb strokes her cheekbone. His fingers are in her hair and when a piece of it falls forward, he tucks it behind her ear.

It’s hard, now, to imagine these hands at their function.

His right hand moves eventually from her face to her neck, to her collarbone, her breast, moving slow down her ribs and belly. His fingertips are calloused, ghosting across her skin until she shivers. He never stops watching her face though. His hand settles at her hip. She can feel his thumb running little circles against her hipbone. He’s still looking at her. His eyes are gray and unreadable. They stay that way until Mariette reaches between them, like a question, taking him in her hand.

He gasps, closes his eyes, then looks at her and…

She sinks down, guiding him to her. He’s hot inside her, briefly dry, briefly rough until she settled slick around him. Until they’re both wet and she can feel his pulse inside her. She breathes out, shaky, easing into it until her thighs settle finally flush to his hips. She doesn’t move. She’s so close to him, she can see his breath disturb her hair. He mouths something. She just… tightens around him, watches his breath hitch in his throat. She relaxes, then tightens again. Over and over, moving slightly, her weight against his shoulders, his hands still cradling her face. She gets the feeling that seeing her face (Joi’s face) constantly, every second of this, is the only thing that’s making this possible. 

“Are you okay?” Joi asks, worried. “Does it feel good?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Talk to me,” she whispers. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

He pulls Mariette’s mouth to his. Against her lips, he says, “Don’t stop.”

And Mariette cants her hips forward a little. She starts, slowly to ride him. She watches his eyes, his mouth, the way his neutral expression starts to give into the feeling – overwhelming and unfamiliar she’s sure. He bends in time to her movements. He tightens when she does. His eyes flutter and close and when he loses sight of her, Joi says, “I’ve got you,” and Mariette kisses his forehead. Sweat runs a line down her back, down her spine. She drags it out until K is panting, aching hot inside her, shivering at a finger-touch. He says, ‘please’ and she pushes him down. He says, ‘I can’t,’ and she licks the word off his lips. There’s a blot of heat in her belly, climbing through from her clit to her spine. She stops playing it slow and drives down against him, hard, setting her teeth into his throat until he’s gasping, frantic beneath her.

“Joi, please,” he says.

She pulls back so they’re face-to-face and feels Joi flicker forward just a centimeter, the illusion of her shimmering over Mariette’s skin, subsuming her completely. That’s when he loses control. His head falls back, his mouth falling open on a sound that catches as a broken breath in his throat but Mariette wants something more than that so she grabs his hair and puts her mouth against his throat at the same time she grinds down the length of him, tight around her, tighter than before and this time K jerks, grabbing her arms. He cries out, once, a mindless, agonized noise and she rides him through the aftershocks until he’s shuddering with every rock of her hips. Until he’s lost in it completely.

“K, talk to me,” Joi says against his lips.

He mouths something, breathes it against Mariette’s mouth. She’s not sure, but she thinks he says, “I love you.”

He says it like a secret, like a prayer, like he’s afraid to speak it aloud and Mariette feels the syllables in her skin sure as the static off Joy’s emanator. She doesn’t mean to come, but she does. The orgasm hits her suddenly, rolling through her in a sheet of white pleasure and Mariette cries out. Joi cries out. Mariette clutches him and buries the sound against his mouth.. She waits for the static to pull out of her belly, for her insides to unravel, but it just goes on and on unbearably until she’s shaking with it, racked with it, just _wrecked_ with it… and then it’s over.

K’s still looking at her.

His eyes are gray as the winter skies and Mariette thinks, _You are gonna die brutal, blade runner_.

She does not pull away from him. Instead Mariette loops her arms around his neck and lies on top of him, feels his heartbeat against her breastbones, feels him soften inside her and his breathing slow toward sleep. She holds him as close as physically possible while Joi runs fingers of light along his collarbone. Mariette runs her fingers through his hair, nails sliding along his scalp until she thinks he’s dozing. Joi stays with her though, warm on her skin and eventually Mariette closes her eyes and the three of them wait out the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so messed up about this scene tho. As always, comments and feedback are what keep this fic-train rolling because I live off of people talking about this movie because literally no one I know is talking about it and its TRAGIC. Thanks for reading!


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